


Once more, with feeling

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [11]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, I don't even now, M/M, Overstimulation, PWP, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: It's not a cruel instinct, Alfie doesn't think, not at its core, but it’s not an entirely nice one either. Possessive, maybe, which honestly wouldn’t be a huge revelation on his part. It’s far from the worst thing he ever had to realize about himself – he can live with beingpossessivejust fine.In which Alfie realizes some things without even realizing it.(Stand-alone, set somewhere in the future.)





	Once more, with feeling

_“Christ,”_ Tommy says, face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising and falling with aftershocks. He looks... well. _Good_ would be an understatement. Bloody _fantastic_ would also be an understatement. _Ethereal_ would come close, probably, as far as simple adjectives go, but then again… tad bit dramatic, innit.

In any case, the main point is this: Tommy Shelby in his bed, looking like that, it _does_ things to a man. Strangely resembles the urge of wanting to crush a puppy, sometimes – even though Alfie would happily chop off his own hand before ever actually doing _that_ – but it’s probably the same impulse. Like it’s too much of a good thing and you can’t really help yourself. Right now, for example; Tommy just came all over everything, is still trying to catch his breath, and Alfie already wants to do it all over again, just to keep him like that.

It's not a cruel instinct, he doesn't think, not at its core, but it’s not an entirely nice one either. Possessive, maybe, which honestly wouldn’t be a huge revelation on his part. It’s far from the worst thing he ever had to realize about himself – he can live with being _possessive_ just fine.

He also hasn’t gotten to where is he is in life by not listening to what his instincts are telling him. Tommy hasn’t gone soft yet, still half-hard, so Alfie wraps his fingers around the very base of his cock carefully, and starts licking up come. The taste itself doesn’t do much for him, never has, never will, but he likes the act of it.

“What-” Tommy says, lifting his head up to look. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Alfie says innocently.

He gently sucks the swollen cockhead into his mouth and Tommy almost kicks him in the head. Since the reaction doesn’t come entirely unexpected, Alfie manages to catch his leg just in time, hooking a hand under his knee and pushing it towards his chest, up and out of the way.  

“What the _fuck_ are you _doing?”_ Tommy says again, a lot louder this time. He doesn’t tell Alfie to stop. There is a strange whine to his voice that has never been there before. Alfie is fascinated. If he can keep him sounding like that for a while, this will be an evening well spent. He keeps going, soft and gentle on the head, tightening his grip at the base, sliding the circle of his fingers up and down a bit; not too far, maybe an inch or two.

“Fuck,” Tommy moans, throwing his head back almost petulantly. “Jesus, I _can’t-”_

“Sure you can, mate,” Alfie says, unconcerned, pulling off for a second to scrap his teeth over Tommy’s hipbone. “You absolutely can, yeah, you just wait and see…”

 _“Fuck you,”_ Tommy all but hisses at him. He’s really panting now, breath going in and out of him like he has no control over it at all. His hips are moving around, like he doesn’t know what to do, not really thrusting up, not really trying to get away either. Well… a bit, maybe, but that’s all right, that’s completely fine, Alfie is just going to move with him, not really letting him get anywhere.

He’s also not holding him down, either, is the fascinating thing – he’s helping him prop his leg up with one hand, slowly jerking his cock with the other to keep him hard, but that’s it. If Tommy really wanted, he could get out of this in two seconds, easily.

After a while, Alfie lets go of the leg he’s holding and uses his hand to slip two fingers back inside, where Tommy’s still slick and fucked open from before. It takes a few seconds, since the angle is a bit different and also, to be perfectly honest, Alfie’s never been brilliant at doing multiple things at once, but then he’s found the right spot and presses against it carefully.

“Jesus, _fuck!”_ Tommy yells. He sounds almost angry about it, except he’s really hitching his hips into it, now. Alfie’s not really moving his fingers much, just keeps them in place, sort of rubbing them back and forth – it’s the one thing that never fails to get Tommy off and they both know it. Might take a long time, mind you, but it’s not like they’ve got anywhere to be. Well. Alfie doesn’t, at any rate.

There is a low hum of pleasure coursing through him like a current of electricity, hard to describe, even harder to pinpoint. He’s turned on, sure, but there is more to it than that. He thinks about how strange it is that he’s doing this for _himself,_ for his own enjoyment, even though technically it’s Tommy who is getting sucked off. Still, it is what it is. He figures he’s done pretty well in life without questioning all the weird impulses he’s ever had, so in all honesty – why start now?   

“I can’t- _Christ,_ I fucking _can’t-”_ and Tommy is actually fucking whining now, which might be the best sound Alfie has ever heard. Naturally, he doesn’t dignify that with a response; the cock in his mouth is getting hard again, after all, stiff and heavy with blood. He keeps at it relentlessly but without being rough about it, which seems to be the right course of action – when he finally eases up a bit, going slower than before, Tommy actually tries to speed him up again.

It’s typical, really. You give Tommy Shelby what he wants and then he doesn’t know what to do with it, so all of a sudden he wants the opposite. It’s a bit like what Alfie imagines having a cat might be like; since he’s a dog person he has no real life experience to draw from.

He’s just softly sucking the head now, watching Tommy slowly fall apart and enjoying the visual immensely. When he tongues the slit, Tommy makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, the muscles in his thighs tensing, legs drawing up. So, obviously, Alfie does it again. And again.

And then once more for good measure, even though Tommy has already started coming, or something that’s close enough, pushing up and shoving deep into Alfie’s mouth, which is just fine by Alfie, really – as long as Tommy looks and sounds like _that,_ he can do whatever he fucking likes. Alfie even manages not to choke, which might be skill on his part, but might also be just due to the fact that there’s no real ejaculate to speak of. He still swallows a few times because that always feels good, doesn't it; if nothing else, it makes Tommy moan helplessly in the process.

When they’re good and done, Alfie removes his fingers first, before pulling his mouth away very slowly. _Then_ he goes back to lick at the red cock in front of him, experimentally.

“Don’t!” Tommy yelps, an honest trace of panic in his voice. “Jesus fucking Christ, don’t, do _not-”_ He’s trying to scramble away, except there is no real coordination to any of his movements. Alfie sits back, holds up both of his hands in a gesture of quiet surrender.

“All done,” he says. He pets one of Tommy’s thighs in a rush of affection, looking his fill. Tommy is flushed everywhere, color high on his cheeks, red blotches down to his chest. His eyes are closed now, dark eyelashes fanning out over his cheekbones. Both of his hands are clutching at the pillow under his head.

“All right?” Alfie says casually. He’s still trying to figure out what he got out of this, because it was definitely _something;_ he can feel the adrenaline, heating him up from inside like some strange kind of afterglow. Tommy is blinking up at him sluggishly; he lets go of the pillowcase but leaves his hands there, lying next to his head, open and vulnerable. Alfie is aware that he’s staring, probably an uncomfortable amount, but he doesn’t really want to stop.

Tommy almost seems like he needs a few seconds to process the question. Then the corner of his mouth tips up and he laughs, low and breathless, voice like gravel. Rubs a hand over his eyes and pushes the sweat-slick hair away from his forehead. His hand is shaking, Alfie notices with interest.

“I might be actually fuckin’ dead,” he says, then has to swallow around the dryness in his throat. “But ‘part from that… never better.”

Alfie nods seriously. Maybe he should lie down, too, he thinks.

“What about you?” Tommy asks suddenly, slyly. “You have fun with that?”

Alfie blinks at him, surprised. “I did, yeah.”

For some reason, he didn’t think Tommy would notice. Which, given that he quite literally looks fucked out and like he’s not entirely sure of his own name right now, might have been a fair assessment. Except it’s Thomas Shelby, isn’t it, and Thomas Shelby is observant to a fault. He’s also one of the few people on God’s green earth that doesn’t seem to operate under the base assumption that Alfie is just… kind of mad. In the head.

Which is fucking annoying, to be completely honest, because it makes dealing with Tommy a whole lot more difficult than it has to be. Because yeah, _Alfie_ knows that he’s perfectly fucking sane most of the time, but that doesn’t mean that it’s anybody’s business. A man and his reputation and all that.

But that particular ship has sailed, anyway.

He lies down next to Tommy, not quite touching, except Tommy closes the last few inches between them and pushes their shoulders together.   

“S’good, anyway” he mumbles, already sounding half asleep. It won’t last long, Alfie knows from experience – Tommy is incapable of sleeping more than two consecutive hours, in addition to being the lightest sleeper Alfie’s ever met. Sex seems to help to some degree, but it’s not a miracle cure. Still. For right now, this is nice.

“What is?” Alfie asks quietly. He almost hopes that Tommy isn’t awake enough to hear it.

It gets him half a shrug. “Just…” Tommy says, eyes closed, kind of pushing his temple against Alfie’s shoulder. There’s just no way around it, Alfie thinks, his face really is _exceptionally_ lovely. Something either went very wrong or very right the day Thomas Shelby happened to the world. “Y’know. You. S’fine. Really kinda liked it.”

Alfie can’t help himself. He really can’t.

“So… same thing again tomorrow, then?” he asks, grinning, and then yelps in pain, because Tommy has smacked him high on his thigh. Didn’t even open his eyes to do it, Alfie thinks admiringly. It stings, too.

“Simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, mate.”

“No,” Tommy murmurs against his shoulder.

“All right, then.”

He tries to pull the blanket over them without moving too much, in case Tommy really is falling asleep right now and thinks, he was right about one thing – on all accounts, this was an evening well spent.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some porn and then I wanted to write some Alfie POV and then the whole thing got... let's say _introspective_ right at the very end. Because of course it did. Not sure I'm 100% happy with my Alfie voice, but oh well. You live and you learn. 
> 
> (Also, I just realized that apparently, they both think of the other as the annoying one in the relationship, which... is very amusing to me.)


End file.
